No Way Out: An Edge of Your Seat Crime Thriller

By DC Brockwell

A man is trapped in a strange room, strapped to a bed—while DC Nasreen Maqsood desperately scours London to find him . . .

Daniel Rose finds himself in a confusing and terrifying predicament after awakening in an unfamiliar place, physically restrained. He is soon introduced to a beautiful, intimidating woman who calls herself the Queen Bee and refers to Danny as one of her workers. But what exactly does that mean and what does she want with him? Meanwhile, Detective Constable Nasreen Maqsood gets assigned to Danny’s missing persons case. Not only does she want to crack it so she can prove to her male superiors that she’s right for the job; she also wants to find Danny because they used to be old school friends.

Meanwhile, still trapped, Danny starts to realise there are other bees in the bunker—new ones and ones who are coming to the end of their usefulness. What happens to a bee taken to C Wing? What happens when your time is up? Nasreen has no idea what she’s up against, and for Daniel, the clock is ticking . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781504069601

Book preview

1

Day 2 Friday, 12th January

Detective Constable Nasreen Maqsood sat down next to her supervisor, Detective Sergeant Terrence Johnson. Having successfully secured a confession out of a serial rapist who’d been stalking their streets and parks, she’d been asked to join Terrence for a briefing on their next investigation.

The rapist had managed to elude them for over three months, but by using every resource they had at their disposal, they’d managed to identify the suspect before he’d struck for a sixth time; Nasreen only wished they’d been able to identify him sooner.

Sitting across from her and her supervisor was Detective Chief Superintendent Clive Adams. She’d heard a lot about Adams throughout her career, but as of a year earlier – when she’d been selected as detective constable – he was now her boss’s boss’s boss. It was unusual for such a senior officer to be giving them their investigation dossiers. Due to budgetary constraints, illness and other factors beyond the department’s control, their inspectors and chief inspector were out of action; now it was up to DCS Adams to perform three officers’ roles.

While he had a reputation as a harsh but fair man, so far, fortunately, she’d only seen the fair side of him – except for her very first day as a detective, that was, when he’d expressed his concern over her selection; he’d been honest enough to tell her that she’d been chosen, not because she was the most qualified, or had scored highest in her exam, but rather because her ethnicity was desirable. In the past year, she’d worked hard to allay those concerns, had proven her worth, and had consequently become an integral part of the team.

Nasreen listened patiently to the usual niceties, remaining quiet while Johnson and Adams spoke briefly about their families.

Adams was a well-built man in his late fifties, with a head full of grey hair. Not for the first time, as Nasreen stared at him, she noticed how big his ears were in comparison with the rest of his head – long, rather than big. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but she wouldn’t say he was exactly attractive either.

Her supervisor, on the other hand, was a strapping black man with a booming voice and a contagious laugh. Now, he was a good-looking man, one who could charm anyone into anything. In fact, about six months earlier, Terrence had charmed a female suspect into confessing to a double murder; she’d not been the brightest spark, it was true, however it had been Terrence’s charm that had won her over and brought out the unexpected confession.

Once the civilities were over, Adams picked up two A4 folders, handing one each to her and Terrence before leaning back in his chair. I’ve had to juggle things about a bit. You’ll be running with this for the next couple of days; I’ve had to pull Watts and O’Hara off it because they’re testifying in the Hamilton trial.

That’s okay, sir, Terrence replied in his deep voice.

All the preliminary work’s in there, Adams continued, nodding at the folders. It’s already a day old, so you’ll be picking up where they left off.

Nasreen opened the folder and skimmed over the top sheet of paper, a form giving the details of the missing person: Daniel Rose. She gasped, then hoped they hadn’t heard. It couldn’t be her Danny, could it? It had to be another poor soul with the same name.

She could hear Adams and Terrence talking about the case, but she wasn’t listening. She looked at the address details: they neither confirmed nor denied her worst fears; she no longer knew where he lived anyway.

Glancing through the personal section of the form, she noticed the date of birth was a match! Shit! She flipped over to the next page, and there it was: a picture of her Danny.

It was funny how she had two very conflicting histories with Danny. On the one hand, she had stacks of memories of her primary and secondary school years, years Danny spent bullying her, calling her and her friends the P-word and giving her the general verbal abuse she’d become accustomed to. Then, on the flip side, she had lovely memories of him as her boyfriend, when he’d been loving, kind, and generous.

When she was twenty – going through a rebellious phase against her parents – Nasreen and Danny bumped into one another in the high street of their hometown and he’d apologised for his behaviour in the past. They’d popped into a pub nearby and had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening catching up. When they were saying their goodbyes, they’d arranged to go out on a real date.

She looked at the picture of Danny for what felt like hours. He was such a good-looking man, with a full head of dark hair that rested slightly over his face. She remembered his smile, the smile that had made her knees tremble. She’d always wondered why such a great-looking guy had been interested in her; she wasn’t ugly, but she’d never considered herself to be pretty either. Still, there she’d been for a little over a year, in a great relationship with a gorgeous man.

All these memories kept flashing through her mind while her bosses continued discussing the investigation, oblivious to her distress.

Glancing through Danny’s employment history, she found that he’d worked for a company called Nagel and Nagel – a male escort agency – which had gone bust two years earlier; since then he’d taken his services private. A sudden rush of anger enveloped her as she thought of all those women paying to have sex with him.

Not wanting her bosses to know how angry she was, Nasreen breathed in and out until she felt a little calmer. She just couldn’t understand how Danny could have sold his body for money, though there was no denying he’d have made a lot doing it; he had a great body and he really knew how to treat women. But to actually go and sell sex for money? What was he thinking!

Before they’d broken up – the hardest break-up Nasreen had ever experienced – he’d shown her his paintings, which were amazing. Danny had always wanted to be an artist, and to make money by selling his art in galleries was his dream. He had such talent, and such promise; he wasn’t supposed to be a prostitute. What had gone wrong in his life to make him decide that selling his body was the best course of action?

Poor Danny, she thought. Something really bad must have happened to him.

Tuning into her bosses’ conversation again, Nasreen heard Terrence and Adams talking about Danny’s family.

He didn’t have any to speak of. His mum and dad had both died when he was sixteen, and thanks to his older sister agreeing to house him, he’d just managed to avoid being taken into care. Then, when Danny was twenty, his sister had moved to Ottawa, Canada, with her new husband. There was no one else.

Nasreen, is everything all right?

At Terrence’s voice she looked up from her file to find him and Adams both looking at her, waiting for a response. A quiet Huh? was all she could muster.

Are you okay? Adams asked, sounding concerned. You look pale; are you feeling all right?

I’m fine. Sorry, what were you saying? I was just reading through the file and must’ve got distracted. As Nasreen stared at her superiors, she noticed their looks of concern disappear, quickly turning to expressions of confusion.

Are you sure? asked Adams.

She tried to keep her voice level. Honestly, I’m fine.

Still not looking entirely convinced, Adams and Terrence went back to discussing the investigation.

Nasreen had to decide whether she should come clean and inform her superiors that she’d had a relationship with the victim; it was force protocol to inform them, so she was professionally obligated to do so. There was something holding her back though.

She knew of a fellow officer, back when she’d been a uniformed constable, whose boyfriend had disappeared, and he had not been allowed to have anything to do with the case. She wanted – needed – to help find Danny.

I suggest you go right back to the beginning, see if a fresh pair of eyes – or two – will help. Watts and O’Hara interviewed… Adams looked down at his copy of the file, Rita Abbott yesterday; she initiated the missing persons report and we think she was the last person to see him. I’d start there.

We’re on it, Nasreen replied, closing the file and standing up. Terrence followed suit.

As she and her supervisor walked out of the office, she thought about telling Terrence privately – letting him know about her relationship to the missing person – and seeing if he thought she should tell Adams. There really was no question that she should have told them both from the beginning. There was no way she was going to let them reassign her to a different case…

2

Day 5 Monday, 15th January

Daniel Rose stirred.

His head hurt, he felt nauseous, and when he tried to rub his face, something prevented his arms from moving. He was bound by something.

Gradually, he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a white ceiling, worrying considering his bedroom’s was an off-white, beige. It was then he realised he wasn’t at home.

Looking to his right he saw a bare white wall; to his left, the same. He could feel something around his neck, and he could smell the strong scent of leather.

Raising his head as far as the leather neck cuff would allow, he looked forwards. He was naked atop white sheets, his ankles and wrists chained and bound by leather restraints. He tried to move again, but the restraints were too tight.

Where the fuck was he? Was this one of his clients’ bedrooms? It wasn’t a room he’d seen before; maybe it was one of their spare rooms he hadn’t been in yet?

He continued scanning the room, his head throbbing. There was a door in front of him, set to the right, and it looked heavy – made of metal maybe, painted red. There was a letterbox in the door, about five feet up; it couldn’t have been a letterbox at all. It could have been a peephole, but it certainly wasn’t a normal one; it looked like something you would see in a prison door.

Danny winced at his pounding head.

This wasn’t funny, whatever it was. Wherever he was.

Just what the hell was going on?

In the middle of the front wall, to the left of the red door and slightly higher up, was what appeared to be an air conditioning unit. The flaps were open and the machine was making a strange whirring sound. At least it was comfortable, temperature-wise.

Danny suddenly realised that on his scan of the room he hadn’t seen any windows. He looked to the left and right again. Nope. A windowless room meant he was either in the middle of a big complex, or underground. A basement, perhaps? None of his clients had basements – at least, not to his knowledge. He looked more closely at the walls, seeing two vents near the top of both the left and right walls.

He had to get out of here, he thought as he pulled on the wrist restraints.

Help! he shouted, panicked, as he continued to pull as tight as he could on his wrists, all the while wrenching his neck against the tough leather. Anybody? Please?

The letterbox hatch slid sideways from the outside.

As Danny found himself staring at a pair of eyes peering at him through the slot, he stopped tugging at his wrists. Who was it? If it was one of his clients, he was going to go straight to the police.

The hatch closed.

Please! Untie me and let me go! he shouted, yet again tugging at his wrist restraints. I haven’t done anything wrong! I just want to go home, please!

Nothing.

He listened for any noises: nothing. Either there was nothing happening outside the room, or the walls and doors were really thick – soundproofed, perhaps?

Glancing to his right, he saw there was a chest of drawers next to the bed. There was nothing on the top, but what about inside the drawers? His clothes could be in there, and maybe his mobile phone too.

He needed to get the phone and call for help; all he had to do was get out of these restraints, find his, or another, phone and call the police.

Mr Rose, you’ll tire yourself out, said a female voice. Please relax, and don’t be alarmed. I’ll be with you shortly to debrief you on your situation.

Unable to work out where the voice had come from, Danny scanned the room again, hoping to see something he’d missed before. He thought the voice had come from above. Looking closer, he couldn’t see any technology capable of…

Oh wait, there it was: above the air conditioning unit there was a glass ball, a camera. Someone was watching him.

How long had he been here, being watched? The thought made his head hurt.

He took the voice’s advice and lay still, trying to think back to the last thing he could remember, although that was easier said than done with his head being so fuzzy; it felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton wool.

The last thing he remembered was leaving Rita Abbott – his client – asleep in her bed, and then he’d walked through the park, back to his townhouse. He remembered walking past some bloke in the dark. A big stocky guy in a bomber jacket.

So that was how he’d ended up here! That bloke must’ve smashed him over the head with something, probably a baton or maybe something smaller that he hadn’t seen until it was too late.

But why would he want to knock him unconscious and bring him here? And where was here? And whose voice was that earlier? None of it made any sense.

There were far too many questions for Danny’s battered brain to comprehend. Loads of questions, with no answers. He wished he could clear his head.

Danny heard what sounded like a key in the door; his heart stopping as it opened and a woman in her late thirties – maybe early forties – walked in, flanked by a bullish man wearing shirt and trousers. Trailing them came a sweet-looking petite young Asian girl. Danny’s pulse quickened as the three new arrivals stood observing him in his naked state.

Danny had never been shy. Tied up, he felt very vulnerable.

Daniel Rose, said the woman in her late thirties. She stepped forwards and stood in front of his bed. Finally, we meet.

Looking at her through the fogginess, some song lyrics suddenly popped into Danny’s head. It couldn’t really be Jolene, could it? His head throbbed as he watched her walk up closer.

Whoever she was, she sure was beautiful. He couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing what appeared to be a bathrobe – a classy velvet number. You’re not one of my clients! he exclaimed. Please untie me. I don’t deserve this; I haven’t done anything wrong.

Danny, she said softly, this isn’t about you doing anything wrong. She continued walking around the side of his bed before sitting down next to him. I can call you Danny, can’t I? I heard that’s what you prefer.

He felt the bed sink as she sat down. Look, lady, he said, panicking again, I don’t know what the fuck this is, please–

Shhh. She placed a finger over his lips. "Oh Danny, you’re not supposed to know what this is. She smiled, glancing pointedly around the sparse room. I haven’t told you yet."

She had a lovely manner about her, disarming. Her smile was glorious and her long red hair topped off the whole package. Danny loved redheads. When she smiled, dimples formed, accentuating her piercing green eyes.

You’re our guest, she said, reaching out her right hand to rest on his leg. Our newest bee.

When Daniel felt her hand gently stroking his lower calf, he asked, Can I have my clothes, please?

Shhh! Shhh! It’s okay, Danny. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. On the contrary, she added, raising her eyebrows, I’ve heard a lot of complimentary things about you.

Trying to avoid thinking about the woman’s touch, Danny glanced over at the bullish man, standing very straight in his white shirt and black trousers, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. He wasn’t paying any attention to what was going on – or at least, he didn’t seem to be.

The petite Asian girl stood beside the bull tried to look away.

He looked back up at the woman, feeling her steady gaze on him. Who the fuck are you people? What do you want from me?

You see, Danny, we need your expertise, she replied, stroking his inner thigh.

Expertise? He tried to ignore the woman’s fingers on his skin. What the fuck are you talking about? I think you’ve got the wrong guy; I’m an artist, I can paint you a picture if you want… all you have to do is ask, you don’t need to–

Not that kind of expertise, she said, cutting him off with a smile. I’ve heard your skills with a brush pale in comparison to your… other areas of expertise.

I don’t even know what you’re talking about. His mind was fuzzy. He was still none-the-wiser why he was strapped to this bed.

Her fingers were closing in on his crotch. I’m talking about your other skills, Danny, you know what I’m talking about.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, trying to think. His fuzzy head was making him crazy. What was going on? Where was he? And what was this woman on about? Look, tell me what’s going on! he shouted. "Who the fuck are you? Why am I tied up? And where the hell is this place? Why can’t I have my clothes?"

The woman stopped stroking him. All in good time, New Bee, she replied, smiling. You can call me Beattie, or Bea, and I own this establishment. My husband and I own it. Behind me is Walter, my number two, and the stunning young lady next to him is Kimiko. She’s here to look after you, so whatever you need, just ask Kimiko.

The woman called Beattie stood up.

How long have I been here?

Four days, I think. She stared into the distance for a moment. No, this is day five.

Danny looked up at her as she walked over to him, then bent down and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Five days? He couldn’t believe he’d been out of it for so long; it felt as though he’d walked through the park just hours before.

Beattie’s soft expression changed. You’re going live tomorrow; four of my best clients are just dying to make your acquaintance. Don’t worry though, Kimiko will see to your needs.

Beattie paused.

Please impress our customers, Danny, like you would with your own.

What do you mean, ‘our customers’?

With a look of exasperation on her face, she shouted, What do you think this is? You work for me now! And tomorrow you’re going to service four of my wealthiest customers and you’re going to be as charming and virile as you would be with your own. Do you understand? Do I need to explain this to you some more?

You mean fuck them? He was beginning to understand what was being asked of him. It was too surreal to comprehend, yet here he was, bound naked to a bed in a windowless room.

She tutted, shaking her head. Yes, I mean you’re going to fuck them! And you will, like your life depends on it, because, she answered in that same harsh tone, it really does. And I wish you wouldn’t use that foul language in front of me – I hate it. You’re an intelligent man; intelligent men don’t need to use profanity.

So, this is some kind of brothel, a whorehouse? he said to himself.

Whorehouse is such a derogatory term. This is an exclusive club, Danny, and you’re my New Bee. And my hope is that you’ll become my Star Bee.

Wait! I can’t just fuck on demand like a performing seal, he said, watching her fiddle with her robe belt.

Of course you can, she replied, stepping up to the bed and looking down at him. Your life literally depends on it. We give our ‘New Bees’ time to adjust, but after that, if you don’t perform, if you don’t impress our clients, we have ways of punishing you that you won’t much like. She pointed at the wall. You see those two vents up there? And those over there?

Danny looked up at where she was pointing.

"They aren’t air vents. We can knock you out with the push of a button… and we can put you to sleep permanently just as easily. You do not want to test me, Danny!"

She was right over him, an accusatory finger pointed at his face merely an inch from his nose. As quickly as she’d vented her anger, however, she recovered, her face affable and charming again. Anyway, I’m sure tomorrow will be a success. And I’m rooting for you; you’ve come highly recommended.

Who? Who recommended me?

One of your former clients actually. She said you’d make an excellent addition to my team. And I do hope she’s right.

Danny watched as Beattie untied her belt. She opened her robe, revealing a tight and toned body. She was the whole package. What’re you doing?

Beattie let the robe fall to the floor. I have to sample the goods, Danny. What kind of proprietor would I be if I haven’t tried you for myself? You’ll find I take my job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, our in-house doctor has conducted a barrage of tests on you while you were out. I can promise my clients you’re as clean as they come.

He didn’t know what to make of this news. It was like being in a waking nightmare. The girl, Kimiko, had her head down, as did the guard. And there was nothing Danny could do to stop Beattie mounting him.

Walter! Kimiko! Leave us now, demanded Beattie, straddling him. It’s time to see if you’re as good as I hope…

3

After Beattie had tested him, put on her robe and left the room, Kimiko wheeled in a trolley loaded with cleaning materials.

What the hell had just happened? He was supposed to service four women the next day. He was expected to just play along, no questions asked? Danny could feel the anger building up in his chest, and knowing he had to expel it, he shouted out, Fuck you! He pulled at his ankle, wrist, and neck restraints again – flailing left and right, up and down.

Please, stop, you make her angry, pleaded Kimiko, hurrying over to his side. She pointed up to the camera above the air conditioning unit. She watch from office. It has microphone. Please, stop!

After thrashing about on his bed in anger for several more seconds, he finally gave in, exhausted. He was covered in perspiration. He took several deep breaths until he felt a little calmer, and seeing how anxious the woman was, he asked, What was your name? Kom…

Kimiko.

Please, Kimiko, go through those drawers, he pleaded, pointing at them as best he could with his restrained hand. See if my mobile phone’s in there… please!

It not in there. Your clothes and phone are gone.

For the first time, Danny noticed how sweet her voice was. She was so petite, so cute, he couldn’t believe someone like her would be a part of this. What’s in the drawers?

Kimiko walked over to her trolley and wheeled it over to him before soaking a sponge in a bowl of hot soapy water. She then wiped him down, starting with his face. They empty, she answered as she went about her work, for now. They can soon be filled with your belongings. Bea leave drawers to show you that you can earn possessions.

"Earn possessions?"

Kimiko continued washing Danny and he lay back, trying to relax.

Yes, if you are top bee on B Wing, you get to buy anything you want for a hundred pound, Kimiko explained. All bees are graded by customer, out of ten. At end of week, bee with most point get money to buy thing.

Danny raised his eyebrows. Wait, top bee? How many bees, he said, before correcting himself, "sorry – people – are there here?"

Ten on B Wing, and ten on A Wing. Bea runs B Wing, Alan runs A Wing. There another area for naughty bees. C Wing not really wing but you don’t want go there.

Danny shuddered. No, he didn’t think he wanted to go to C Wing.

Kimiko answered his questions – not that it gave him any more of an idea as to what was going on. She was helpful and attentive, and in spite of where they’d met, he liked her immediately. After all, she was an innocent, so harmless and pretty, who wouldn’t like her?

If he had any chance of persuading someone to help him escape, it was Kimiko…

4

In her office, Beatrice Beattie Harrison watched as Kimiko cleaned Danny, listening to their every word. Even though there was a bank of monitors sat on top of her desk, she could only listen in to one room at a time. As she was confident that she had broken down the other nine bees, she now had to focus on breaking Danny down, to get him to bend to her will.

Sitting back in her swivel chair, she sighed, content. She hadn’t enjoyed testing a bee that much since her first test, all those years ago, back in 2002. She and her husband had bought the ten-acre farmhouse in 2000 and it had taken them a year and a half to renovate the bunker into twenty-five separate rooms, all three metres by three metres.

When she and Alan had been advised to look at the farmhouse by her father, the great William Rothstein, they’d loved the house, despite the amount of work it needed. The clincher though, had been the underground bunker and all the opportunities it offered. William had been insistent on renovating it and turning it into a high-end underground brothel, and Beattie’s husband, Alan, had gone along with the idea; he wasn’t one for arguing with her father. After all, Alan knew what William did for a living, and Alan knew even better how her father dealt with problems.

William Rothstein was a revered name up and down the country; he had appeared in all the national newspapers and news channels over the years, and never for anything good.

He was often referred to as a gangster by the press. Beattie didn’t think of him like that; he was her dad, he loved her. And while it was true that in his younger years he’d earned an obscene amount of money through less than savoury means – prostitution, drugs, extortion, to name a few – now he was a legitimate businessman, a property developer. She was sure he had profitable sidelines, not that he ever spoke of them to her. In fact, he never spoke about any of his other business dealings with her. She had, however, known (or at least suspected) what he did for a living from a young age.

Over the years, she had – more or less – come to terms with it.

It was through her father’s property developing skills that they’d managed to renovate the bunker without alerting the authorities, and the first thing they’d had to do was erect a barn around the hatch leading down a flight of thirty steps to the future brothel. Once they’d covered the hatch they’d started work on the renovation, using only known and trusted construction workers. They’d all been paid for their work under the table and off the books, and they’d been paid handsomely to keep the project to themselves.

While the construction of the bunker was ongoing, she’d been busy with renovating the main house. It had twelve bedrooms in total, a huge lounge and separate dining room, two studies, a library, five bathrooms and a large professional kitchen; most restaurants didn’t have a kitchen as big as hers. It had taken her five years to furnish, paint, and decorate the house to her standard and it had been an enjoyable experience for her.

She and Alan still shared a bedroom, although their relationship was more or less platonic these days; their marriage merely a façade, used to make them look respectable to outside eyes. They hadn’t slept together in over two years; at first she’d thought it was because they had sex on tap, day and night, but later she realised they didn’t love each other the way